THE OTTER HALF

Ten days ago was my birthday, and as usual my ex-girlfriend made an effort to make it memorable. She always does that, and I truly appreciate it.

Gifts, a card, and a cake.

A cake from a fine bakery in Chinatown.

It was indeed a truly lovely cake, a wonderful cake!


No, not quite an epic cake. Cake is seldom epic by itself, it's the people around the cake are that could make it so. But cake is such a nice thing to have, and there are some fifty-five year old men who do not get cake. One remembers Milton, from Office Space, who was always last in line for cake. I sometimes feel like that, but then I clench my red Swingline stapler, and tell myself that I can always burn this place down and take my travellers' checks elsewhere. Staplers are a profound comfort.

Other than one piece which she ate, I had the whole thing.

I really do like cake. Cake is such a happy word.

Cake, cake, cake, cake, cake, cake!

Found this image courtesy of George Takei.
Those are two epically happy otters.

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